


Revelation

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: First Time, Hand Jobs, Love Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-18
Updated: 2013-06-18
Packaged: 2017-12-15 10:37:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Spirit isn’t expecting Stein to be at home.” Stein has reached the end of his patience and Spirit has a surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

Spirit isn’t expecting Stein to be at home. The meister is usually gone for the better part of the day; Spirit leaves without seeing him and comes back from class to an empty apartment. Sometimes the younger boy will show up for dinner but after the first few weeks Spirit gave up on waiting for him, so now it’s just a mild surprise when the meister is present. But when the door opens and Stein looks up from the couch Spirit is hit with all the awkwardness of walking into the wrong apartment. He can’t remember the last time he had company at this hour of the afternoon.

“Hey there,” he offers. Usually he tosses his bag onto the furniture, but as Stein is currently occupying the space Spirit moves to do so, catches himself, and then just lets the weight fall to the floor. The door swings shut behind him. It is odd to stand in the doorway of his own home, but Spirit isn’t used to considering his home as  _our_  home and he’s not sure what to do with the foreign presence in front of him. He wants to cross his arms in front of him but that will definitely read as defensive, so instead he lets them hang by his sides and feels worse for the decision.

“What--” He cuts himself off. It seems somewhat impolite to ask his roommate what the meister is doing in his own home, but given the irregularity of the situation Spirit can think of nothing else.

Stein unfolds from the couch. He hasn’t said anything, but his face is set in focused lines. Spirit can’t interpret what the other boy is thinking, but whatever it is he is entirely set on it.

“What’s --” Stein is taller than him, Spirit realizes. When did that happen? “What’s wrong?” he manages to get out around the awkward octave jump his voice attempts.

Stein still doesn’t answer. He’s close now, much closer than he has ever been before while Spirit in is human form. The weapon doesn’t realize he’s backing up until his shoulders slam into the door, and then he is trapped between the inexplicably tall meister and the heavy weight of the wood at his back.

“Stein?” No answer, just the delineation of determination all over the younger boy’s face. “Stein, are you --”

The last of Spirit’s sentence is lost as Stein leans down to press his mouth against the weapon’s.

Spirit has kissed girls. Really. He tries to convince himself of this in the face of the shock and uncertainty that Stein is dredging up from him. He has kissed people before and it was no big deal and this should be no big deal either. Right? But that last comes out as a question even in his own head and this is  _aggressive_  in a way his other experiments never have been and his back is pressed against the door and when did his knees stop working? There is nowhere for his body to go with the wall at his back and in front of him there is only his meister, and sometime in the last three years Stein has gained inches of height and breadth both and now there is no way for Spirit to slide free.

Although he’s not trying to, either, the weapon realizes as if from a great distance. Shouldn’t he be? There should be some sort of struggle. This is a surprise, after all. And he likes girls, he’s fairly certain of that, especially that petite blond-

Stein’s hand comes up to grab a handful of the red hair at the base of Spirit’s neck and his tongue slides past Spirit’s lips and that’s the last Spirit is thinking of girls or of anything at all beyond the shiver of burning adrenaline in his veins.

~*~*~

Spirit is absurdly, irrationally pliant. Some part of Stein’s brain is standing back, as it always does, cataloging and observing and cooly separate, but this is the only note it has at the moment and for that he is grateful. He is having some trouble dealing with his body currently. He is accustomed to controlling his physicality with his mental focus, and just at the moment the pulse of blood through the spiderwebs of vessels just under his skin is demanding all the attention left over after his lips and tongue and fingers have had their share. His eyes are open but his brain is ignoring all visual input; there is already too much to deal with between the slide of Spirit’s hair over the calluses on his hands and the taste of Spirit’s mouth and the strange softness in Spirit’s shoulders.

Stein is just coming back into himself, just piecing together the disparate sensations from his body and about to take his vision into account, when Spirit relaxes back against the wall and sighs against his mouth. The motion, the exhale, the sound, all feel and sound and taste like capitulation, and Stein doesn’t know what exactly Spirit is giving in to but he can  _feel_  some part of his focus shatter under the weight of that and briefly the observer in his head turns off and Stein is composed entirely of nerve endings and flickering neurons for the first time in his life.

~*~*~

Spirit is breathing hard like he’s been running, gasping for air between the attacks Stein is making on him. They  _are_  attacks; there’s a sharp-edged aggression to them, a painful intensity that Spirit has never experienced from anyone else. Of course, he’s never been the recipient either, not like this, and he’s beginning to wonder what was  _wrong_  with him to never try this before. Stein is holding his head still by a handful of hair and every time the meister shifts his grip it pulls at Spirit’s scalp in a way that is somehow both painful and pleasant. When Spirit tries to turn his head, ostensibly to improve the angle of his mouth in relation to the younger boy’s, Stein  _growls_  in the back of his throat. The sound reminds Spirit unavoidably of the feral toothiness of the other boy’s smile during fights. He has never consciously been aware of the appeal of that unrestrained violence, but now his racing heart is flickering back through his memories and recasting them all in this new perspective and the flush of his blood rearranging itself feels like it is lighting his skin on fire. He goes obediently still, locked in place between the wall and the meister and the fingers in his hair, but he can’t call back the whimper of painful desire as his self-conscious hesitance evaporates in the face of his pounding heart.

Stein doesn’t move back, doesn’t release his hold on Spirit’s hair, but his unoccupied hand comes between them to pull at Spirit’s collar. The weapon has considered giving up on his affectation of collared shirts before, usually casually while necking with a girl in a dark corner, but he has never regretted his fashion choices as much as he does right now. If he could he would help the meister, but his hands have found their way to Stein’s hip and around the other boy’s neck and Spirit has lost all ability to move them away, even for as noble a cause as this one.

With his attention understandably split, and working with his off hand, it takes Stein some time to work the top two buttons of Spirit’s coat free. The meister dips his head as soon as he triumphs over the second, pulling the fabric to the side so he can press his lips against the line of the older boy’s shoulder. All the air in Spirit’s lungs gusts out of him and he goes entirely limp against the wall, and then Stein hisses in frustration against his skin and the meister’s hands are tugging at Spirit’s shirt, and really Spirit wishes he could help but he can’t control his own body at this point so there is nothing he can do to assist. He doesn’t realize he is laughing until he hears himself, a high, breathy sound that is between gasping and giggling, and then he can’t stop until Stein finally gets his shirt free and slides his fingers up under the cloth to drag over the skin of Spirit’s hip and waist. That cuts the sound off sharply, ends it in his throat so Spirit chokes on the pressure. The pull of Stein’s skin against his own sends shivers of sensation branching out over his skin, but there is also a notable silence from the meister that Spirit doesn’t immediately identify until the younger boy drags in a shuddering breath and starts breathing again.

“Stein.” Spirit tries to speak but the name goes awry somewhere in his throat and ends up coming out as a wordless moan. He has to blink, breathe, focus before he tries again. “ _Stein_.”

“What is it, Spirit?” Stein’s tone is flat and faintly edged with anger, but he hasn’t moved his lips away from the line of the older boy’s shoulder so the vibration of his voice hums through the delicate skin at Spirit’s collarbone and interrupts what Spirit is trying to say.

“What -- ahhhh --” Spirit’s head drops back against the door and it is a moment before he can find the breath to speak again. When he does it is all in a rush before Stein’s mouth or fingers can distract him again. “What are you doing?”

“What do you  _think_  I’m doing?” Stein digs his fingers into the curve of Spirit’s hip so hard Spirit can feel his skin giving way to bruises under the pressure. “I would have thought you had some experience with this.”

This is such a close echo of his own thoughts that Spirit almost laughs. “Not -- not like this. Not with  _you_.”

Stein lifts his head and releases Spirit’s hair. There is a breath of horror when Spirit thinks the meister is going to pull away, but the hand against the skin under his shirt stays where it is, and when Spirit brings his chin down Stein is staring at him with almost no expression at all.

“Do you want me to stop?”

Spirit wishes irrationally that there was more fright in the meister’s voice, more emotion or shyness or even anger, just something other than cool distance. It doesn’t seem fair that Stein can sound so fully in control of himself when Spirit can’t quite remember how to breathe. There is some of that irritation in his voice when he responds, so his answer comes out bizarrely breathy and hot with frustration at the same time.

“No, of  _course_  I don’t want you to stop.”

The smile that Stein gives him lights up the meister’s eyes with the visceral satisfaction Spirit associates with the conclusion of fights. Spirit’s heartbeat skitters as his blood tries to tells him to run and to stay at the same time, and then the hand against his neck comes to his shoulder and shoves down and his knees fold under him.

~*~*~

There is a moment when Stein considers abandoning this particular experiment, and it is the moment that Spirit hits the floor in front of him. He has the edge in height but usually Spirit is on his feet, and for a second the weapon is kneeling and gazing up at him with the blue of his eyes clouded with raw pleasure and the rush of total dominance blazes through the meister’s blood and leaves him breathless. But he has worked through the likely results and while Spirit is likely to go along with an impromptu blowjob the end result is nothing like as effective as reciprocation in the other direction, so he forces the heady rush back to manageable levels and comes down to the floor himself. Spirit goes over backward with total willingness when Stein barely pushes against his hip so the meister can swing his leg over the weapon’s hips and straddle him to pin him to the floor.

Spirit doesn’t need to be held down, to be honest. He is lying on the floor and looking at Stein like the meister is the only thing worth watching in the world, and when Stein pushes the still-buttoned shirt up so he can slide his fingers over Spirit’s chest the weapon shudders and shuts his eyes involuntarily. Stein extricates his hand and Spirit’s head comes up and he pushes himself up onto his elbows to protest.

“Wait wait, what are you --”

“Shut up.” Stein commands.

“No, no no, you can’t go this far and then just  _stop_.”

“SPIRIT.” Stein wants to laugh -- this is all going so much better than he had hoped -- but he forgoes it in favor of mock sternness. “I’m trying to get your shirt off.”

“Oh.” Spirit’s face flushes and Stein has to bite his lip to keep the amusement at bay. With two hands the absurdly long row of buttons down Spirit’s shirt gives way rapidly; the weapon is still looking away and trying to get his blush under control when the last comes free. When Stein drags his fingers over Spirit’s exposed skin, he can  _see_  the self-control melt off the older boy’s face. Spirit’s mouth drops open, his eyes shut, his face flushes with pleasure instead of embarrassment, and he drops back to lie flat so he can press one hand over his face and dig the other into his rapidly-tangling hair. Stein has to look away for a minute and shut his eyes against Spirit’s reaction to regain control of his own body.

He opens them again when Spirit’s fingers come into contact with the skin just above the collar of his jacket. The weapon’s skin always feels blisteringly hot, and Stein hasn’t ever been able to determine if this is just a minor difference in their relative body temperatures or a function of his own reaction to Spirit’s touch. At the moment it doesn’t particularly matter and he doesn’t care enough to investigate further, so he lets his head drop forward and exhales in a sigh of satisfaction.

Spirit’s voice is high with pleasure and shot through with strains of confusion and delight. “Have you --” He runs out of the words he is looking for. Stein could offer him some, but he does gain a dark satisfaction out of Spirit’s discomfiture so he lets the older boy search for the phrase he is looking for himself. “All this time?” he finally manages, which isn’t a fully formed question but Stein is willing to forgive him quite a lot in exchange for the tentative contact of fingers on skin.

The meister shuts his eyes. It is too hard to look at Spirit while he makes this confession, especially when the words themselves seem too impossibly weighty to ever make it past his throat. Even with Spirit half-undressed under him and hands and skin trading heat between them both, this feels horribly intimate, like he is exposing every dark thing in him for scrutiny and rejection.

“Yes.” The word is foolishly easy to say, given the value it carries. Even after it is past his lips Stein wants to call it back, wishes he had bent down and stolen Spirit’s focus with something else. The weapon is distractible, he knows this; it wouldn’t be hard to pull his mind away. But he answered instead, and now he feels like he can’t bear to see Spirit’s reaction at all.

His eyes may be shut, but he can’t block his ears without moving his hands, so he hears the sharp intake of breath, feels Spirit’s chest rise with the motion, and then the long sigh of an exhale that comes after.

“Ah.” The word itself is useless, but it comes out sounding like an epiphany, and when Stein dares to open his eyes Spirit’s are shining with moisture.

The weapon pushes himself up on one elbow but the hand against Stein’s throat stays where it is, and the contact locks Stein in place while Spirit leans in towards him. “Sorry,” the older boy breathes against his lips, close enough to touch but not quite bridging the gap. When he slides his hand along to the back of the meister’s neck, Stein finally lets the tight fear of rejection leech out of his muscles and tips his head limply to the side to give Spirit better access around the collar of his coat.

~*~*~

Buttons are complicated, Spirit is rapidly discovering. He hasn’t found his own challenging before, but Stein’s button up the wrong side and his fingers are barely working anymore and every time he thinks he’s regaining presence of mind Stein drags his fingernails across the sensitive skin of his ribs or Stein sighs breathily into his hair or Stein shifts his leg to press into what is rapidly becoming a painful erection and everything goes shattering away again.

He begins to suspect Stein is  _taunting_  him around the fifth time he gets distracted like this. The meister’s timing is a little too perfect, and something about the smirk that is starting to curve the corners of the younger’s boy’s mouth tips him off.

“Are you --” Another slide of pressure, this time down the central line of his chest. Spirit chokes on the words before he manages to go on. “-- teasing me?”

“Spirit.” Stein manages to sound both breathy and darkly amused. The sound of his name in that tone goes straight to Spirit’s cock with absolutely no stop-off at his brain on the way. “Are you complaining?”

Spirit opens his mouth to respond and Stein slides his fingers down the front of the weapon’s slacks as if he has been doing it for years. There is no warning, just the skin-to-skin contact, and the air in Spirit’s throat gushes out like he’s been punched and there is a sound like a whimper that he doesn’t realize is him for a long moment.

Stein sighs against the curve of Spirit’s ear and carefully curls his fingers around Spirit’s erection. Spirit sucks in a breath in the moment before the meister’s hand shifts and then promptly loses it all when he moans at the additional contact. That gets him the edge of a laugh that he can feel ripple all the way up Stein’s body and out down his fingertips.

“Fuck, Stein, wait,” he forces himself to say, because he keeps feeling like he’s coming detached from the world when Stein moves and he needs to do something. “Wait.”

Stein pauses, balanced on one elbow over Spirit, still appallingly clothed but there’s not a lot Spirit can do about that right now. Spirit drags his hands away from Stein’s skin and down to fumble clumsily with the zipper of his slacks. It takes longer than it should but the change in angle is worth it, and then before Stein has a chance to pick back up where he left off the weapon grabs the frames of his glasses and twists them off his face too.

That gets another few seconds of hesitation from the younger boy. His face looks very young without the metal outline and the glassy reflection, sharper-edged at the chin and cheekbones, and his eyes are  _soft_  at the edges. Spirit’s not sure if Stein has never looked this way before or if he just always did it from behind the reflective protection, but it makes the bottom of the weapon’s stomach drop out with shock and sudden affection, and his eyes are damp without any decision on his part, and this is probably not the way to proceed with the moment and Spirit’s horribly afraid he’s ruining it, but the expression in Stein’s eyes -- that there  _is_  any expression at all -- is fulfilling a whole list of desires that he has not let himself realize he had and tears are apparently the best way to deal with it.

Then Stein  _smiles_ , and that tenderness in his grey-green eyes is part of the smile too, and then he drags his hand slowly against Spirit’s skin and now it’s laughter in Spirit’s throat along with tears, and he shuts his eyes and lets himself go to the physical sensation.

~*~*~

Spirit is  _so_  responsive.

Stein honestly had not expected his partner to be so utterly willing to capitulate to his kissing, to his touch, to his affection, and even though his original plan is basically applicable the back of his head is becoming more and more delighted with Spirit’s reaction. With the weapon’s shirt off Stein can  _watch_  the blood rise to the surface of Spirit’s skin and flush pink across the bone structure of the older boy’s body, can see the increase in tempo of Spirit’s breathing as he shifts his hand and the occasional stuttered inhale when he does something particularly unexpected or well-judged. It’s easier to read Spirit than it is to judge his own physical reactions; Stein is still learning to read the signals from his own body, and his brain and his body are not yet familiar enough to speak the same language. But Spirit is like a book, perfectly straightforward and perfectly easy to understand even when the weapon’s eyes are shut. That crease between his eyebrows means ‘less,’ the parting of his lips means ‘more,’ that sound in the back of his throat means ‘don’t stop.’ When Stein shifts his thumb Spirit arches up into it until his hips leave the ground and  _whimpers_ , and the younger boy half-falls in closer so Spirit’s overheated breath is warm against his face and he can lose himself entirely in the older boy’s expression.

Stein eventually finds and holds a rhythm, one that keeps Spirit panting for air but lets the other boy breathe relatively normally. After a moment the other boy opens his eyes. The blue is glazed over with pleasure and Stein’s not sure that Spirit sees him at all, that the weapon has any grasp on the situation other than the physical sensation. But then Spirit smiles, and it’s languid and blissful but deliberate, and angles his leg up so his thigh presses between Stein’s.  _That_  interrupts the meister’s pattern for a moment; he skips a breath and loses his rhythm, and Spirit makes a sound that is mostly laughter but half a whimper at the pause in motion and arches up against Stein’s hand again. Stein isn’t sure how the weapon has managed to take control of the situation flat on his back and mostly undressed, but he is sure that he  _likes_  it, that he wants more of this, more of Spirit, that this is so much better than he ever expected it would be. He picks the rhythm back up from where he dropped it.

Stein wants to protest when Spirit shifts his leg away, but the weapon’s gaze is entirely out of focus now, and he’s fairly certain that the older boy no longer has any conscious control of his body. Spirit is gasping, “Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop,” his fingers are digging painfully into Stein’s hip and clutching at the meister’s hair, and Stein’s wrist is starting to cramp, and if he could spare any attention for speaking he would tell Spirit that nothing in the world could persuade him to stop, but he can’t so he just laughs breathily and keeps going.

As close as he is Stein can’t see when Spirit stops inhaling, but he can hear the pause in sound and he can see anticipation bleed into the weapon’s expression. Spirit’s eyes shut, his mouth drops open, and a narrow line of what looks like either confusion or pain creases his forehead for moment. Then the line evaporates into pleasure, Spirit’s fingers relax against Stein’s skin, and the weapon’s back curves around Stein’s hand as the older boy comes all over the meister’s fingers. The sound he makes is entirely wordless, just a groan of satisfaction far back in his throat and high in the weapon’s vocal range, and the first thing Stein thinks of is how his name would sound voiced that way.

Spirit curls around Stein as soon as he can breathe again, hooking his arm around the meister’s neck so he pulls the younger boy down entirely on top of him.

“You’ll ruin your pants,” Stein has to offer as he disentangles his hand.

Spirit laughs into his hair and pulls harder, and Stein stops fighting and lets himself be held.


End file.
